Yesterday, Part 1: Whence The Pergola

The pergola didn't come. You may remember that a while back, July 23rd, to be exact, I spent nearly two hours becoming the rather frustrated owner of a new pergola. The shipping department at The Bay was going to call me in the near future to set up a shipping appointment.

Of course, they did not call. Otherwise, I would be posting photos of myself sipping mojitos in the cool cool shade of my fiji ultrasuede 8' x 12' steel pergola. I have the SKU number memorized - you can just let me know if you need it.

The Ladies' Wear Person didn't know what she was doing. In fact, when I called nearly a month later to find out what had happened, Debbie, the Seasonal Person, said "Tania didn't know what she was doing. She's Ladies' Wear." Of course. I should have known better than to trust someone with a walkie-talkie.

Debbie, thankfully, knew what she was doing, but sadly, knew that what needed doing needed my personal presence in the goddamn mall.

When I got to the mall, Debbie was on her break. Would I like to wait for 20 minutes?

No, I would not. "Debbie said I just needed to fill out a couple of forms. Did she leave them? Are they handy somewhere? I have the receipt."

No, she did not, they were not, and he just shrugged. "I'm filling in," Buddy said. "I don't know how Seasonal works."

Dear The Bay: do not send the only staff who know what to do on break between
12 and 1.

Dear The Butcher: stop taking your damn stupid self to The Bay between 12 and 1.

Could Buddy call someone who did? Shipping told him to call the Manager. The Manager filling in for the Seasonal Manager, on holidays, didn't know from shipping.

Yes, I would wait.

Finally, Debbie was back. She was nice and knew where the forms where and where to find all the proper information about when I could get it delivered. I picked a date, we set it up, I set off back to work.

When I got back, there was a message for me. From Debbie. She had written all of my information on my slip of paper, but not on her slip of paper. The slip of paper to go to shipping. She thought she could remember all the info, but would I just call her back to confirm.

She'd gotten some of it right, which was either impressive or speaks to how slow Seasonal is at the end of August. She hadn't however, managed to correctly remember either my phone number or my address. No problem, good she'd checked, thank you for calling.

Still, when our pergola didn't arrive during appointed time period, I wasn't entirely surprised.

Yesterday, I called The Bay and asked to speak to Debbie. Debbie wasn't there, but this was Alexandra, could she help me?

It seemed unlikely, quite frankly. But she would figure it out and call me back, before 1, when I was leaving work.

I left work at 1:30. No phone call. I called Alexandra when I got home.

"Oh my gosh! I talked to the shipping company and she said she'd call you, like two hours ago. I can't believe she didn't call you!"

Really? I am not stretching my imagination in the least.

Alexandra continued. "Okay, could you just call her to set it up?"

No. I mean, I could, yes, but if you're going to give me the option, then no. I don't want to explain this situation to a second company and a what, tck tck tck, fifth person. And it's not my job.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time."

"Oh. Oh really? Oh. Okay. I'll call her again."

Within a few moments, the phone rang.

"Hello?

"Hello, is this Megan Butcher?"

"Speaking."

"This is Jackass Shipping. I've got The Bay on the other line."

I can tell she's already annoyed that she even had to pick up the phone and dial my numbers.

"Oh, great. About the pergola!"

"We called you already at the other number, but you weren't there."

"No, I said I was only going to be in the office until 1."

"Well we left you a message - shortly after."

Like she's mad at me - like it's my fault she's got Alexandra on the other line making her send me my own pergola.

"Well, as it turns out, I was in the office until 1:30."

A sour pause.

"I guess we must have missed you then."

"Yes, I guess you must have."

The words were barely polite, and the tone didn't even make that. You know, Shipping Lady, it is not my fault The Bay is so incompetent that you have to call me. So do not try to get around the fact that you don't want to deal with this by leaving me a message when you know I'm gone.

I may not find you, but I will make Alexandra find you. And when that happens, what I will not brook is attitude after I politely ask for what I have already paid for - with money, with hours of my life, with newly frayed nerve cells.

Just send me the damn pergola.

"Okay, I've got your phone number as [redacted]?"

"Yep."

"And your address as twenty-five twenty-five Some Street."

"No, it's two-two-five Some Street."

"Right. Okay."

But my spidey senses tingle.

We continue the call, pick a time, we're ready to go.

Except.

"Could I just confirm the address?"

She sighs.

"Twenty-five twenty-five Some Street."

Right. Okay.

"No, that's two-two-five Some Street."

"Right. Twenty-five twenty-five Some Street."

"No, the number is two... two... five."

"Yes. That's what I have. Twenty-five twenty-five."

"No. It is TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY FIVE."

"Ohhh! Two two five! Right. Okay. Got it."

I'm surprised I didn't burst a blood vessel in my eye, they were bulging so hard.